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by John Boyd
I stared at my baby as her miniature,
upturned face locked onto the latest
Noggin episode.Her eyes were glassy, having
somehow managed to go without
blinking for what seemed like forever. I
could see the water building up above her
eyelid, and eventually a long drop raced
down her cheek. She wiped it off, turned
to me and laughed. “Cheek, daddy!” She
twirled around once, and then went back
to helping “Doo-Doo-Dora” and “Boose”
get across Troll Bridge.
At that moment, a pang of pain went through my heart.My little Janie, my little baby, was not a baby anymore. Now granted, she’d just passed the two-year mark. But she was hitting strangely adolescent milestones: brushing her own teeth, wearing her lemon and vanilla hair in a ponytail, insisting on doing everything herself. She was shedding the baby foliage and blooming into childhood, and that inevitable crawl from infancy had now turned into the imbalanced walk toward growing into a “big girl.”
More than once I have had this feeling, when in an instant I see that my baby has changed right before my eyes. The seasons are rapid during those first few weeks of life when daddy’s come back into town after a business trip and sees little bit has packed on another pound and grown another inch. It’s not trite to say, “Wow, it happens so fast.”We say it because it is so true. It is a phrase like “I love you,” and “Man, it’s hot.” We never stop saying it because it ever stops being as true as ever.
Some highlights from my time as a father to itty-bitty babies might seem a little strange. But there are some unique joys associated with the necessities of babies. For one, I look back and love the memory of the cool dark blue bedroom. It’s 2 a.m., and my little Pookie has startled awake. We snuggle together in the glider, her body barely reaching from collarbone to belly button and my palm patting her entire back.
The slow rock gives rhythm to an a capella concert as I softly sing some Beatles, some JT and a little old-time folk music. Looking down, I see her face serene and eyes wide open. And I think to myself, this little baby’s got it pretty good. Parents will remember these times, worn out, tired, sleepy, exhausted. We remember now the welling sense of love and gratefulness we felt, those moments when holding our little baby in the dark of night, we had a confidence and joy that words cannot explain.
Here’s another one. This one’s a little on the icky side. In fact, one thing I learned after my first daughter was born is that little babies are cute and cuddly and adorable, but man, they stink! I mean seriously. Now you soak them in a Johnson & Johnson bath and rub lavender lotion all over their bodies and then they’re just sweet enough to eat, but two days and 16 diaper changes later, there’s not a pleasant whiff about them. They get all sticky and crusty and odiferous. But, somehow, probably because we are just amazing people, we love them anyway. We just re-polish the noggin, scrub the booty, and we’re back in Candyland.
I will share one thing I will miss about little babies, and that’s the diaper changes. Now hold on. Before you think ol’ John is eating Old Crow for inspiration, hear me out. First, baby poops don’t smell that bad. Don’t believe me? Come change my two-year-old. When she is fed on liquid gold (that’s what Jennifer called her mammary juice) and the occasional mashed banana, there’s just not a lot of nauseous emanations to rock you. Now, when they fill up on lasagna and pop tarts, well, you get it. I didn’t have boys, so I didn’t ever really worry about getting, eh-hem, hosed. But, I digress.
The beauty of changing diapers is the absolute thrill that my baby takes in it. Some diaper changes have lasted 15 minutes in my household. You have this minute body, laid flat out in all their sweet nudiness, and they’re clapping and babbling. They are in perfect posture for a little tickling or a good slerbert on the belly. Lying before you, helpless and pure, locking eyes, totally focused on the sound of your voice and delighting in the attention and touch of Daddy—this is why changing diapers works. It gets the mess off baby and gets the focus off of you. I overlook the odors and love the one-on-one connection. Granted, removing poop from the picture can only sweeten the deal.
Another season is passing, the way you one day look up and notice the leaves are gone. The changes happen slowly, but realized in immediate recognition, a twist of the mind. There’s no reason to tell you to savor the little moments. You do that anyway. I just realize that since the new leaves of toddlerhood are blooming today, I miss the season of cribs and bibs. My babies aren’t babies anymore, but they are my babies just the same.
John Boyd is a writer and musician, neither of which supports his lavish lifestyle. He lives in Columbus with his wife Jennifer and his three babies, Judith, Sarah and Janie.
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